One-Knight Stand

by Barbara Devlin

  “Do you not?” He chuckled. “You want me, sugar kisses, despite actions to the contrary. And you may make improper advances on my person, any time.”

  “Have I ever claimed otherwise?”

  “Then marry me.”

  The words served as both a balm and an irritant to her conscience. She found solace in his proposal, because nothing would give her greater joy than to be his wife, yet she could not accept a commitment born of obligation, however well intended. So she steeled herself to pose the question foremost on her mind, the answer to which would determine her response.

  “Why?”

  “Because it is the right thing to do,” Lance stated without hesitation.

  Wrong rebuttal.

  Her heart plummeted. “That is not sufficient justification to compel me to wed.”

  “And what of my heir? You could be pregnant.”

  “I am not.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Do not play the fool.”

  “I get your meaning.” Lance shrugged. “Marry me, regardless. After all, what gentleman of character would have a soiled dove, when I have staked my undeniable claim?”

  “That can be managed with strategically placed chicken blood.”

  “But we are friends and well suited in bed.” Lance shrugged. “And you were determined to have me, until the deed was done. What happened, Cara? How did I fail you?”

  “I have my requirements.”

  “And they are--what?”

  To her discontent, Cara perched on the banks of her own private Rubicon. And from where she stood, she had only two choices. She could surrender her principles, confess her prerequisite, and forever wonder if her hero genuinely loved her as something more than a friend. The unpalatable prospect prompted her to consider the second option.

  Biding her time, she could hold her tongue and pray that Captain Collingwood’s spurious courtship provoked the prize she sought. She could hold out for her dream, to wed for true love.

  With renewed determination she lowered her chin. “My reasons are my own.”

  “Am I to guess?” He reached for her, and she skittered to the doors.

  Pausing at the threshold, she said, “Do as you will.”

  #

  It was another night and, to his frustration, yet another garish fete epitomizing the gross opulence that was the Little Season. As had become his custom, Lance lurked amid the shadows in Lady Richmond’s ballroom, studying his quarry from a distance.

  Gowned in teal silk, with a thick, flirty curl caressing her throat, Cara manifested his own private princess. If not for his limp, he would don the gleaming suit of armor that had belonged to his ancestors, which held pride of place in his study, and charge forth on a white stallion to claim her for all of London society to witness.

  In silence, he cursed his injury. While he no longer required the use of a cane, he wobbled as a newborn taking its first steps. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he exercised, his leg remained unresponsive and inflexible to the physical therapy Dr. Handley prescribed. As a man, he was accustomed to a little stiffness in the morning, just not in that particular body part.

  With a gloved hand, Cara rubbed the back of her neck, and his mouth watered. Despite her assertions to the contrary, they remained connected by some invisible force, a nameless entity, and her movements belied the fact that she sensed his presence. For as long as he could remember, they shared some transparent yet nonetheless potent attachment.

  Regardless of his travels, whether at school or at sea, Lance existed as some mystical extension of Cara. And he believed, without doubt, she felt it too. He did not know why or how he knew--he just did. Which begged the question: Why had she refused his offer of marriage when he had well and truly compromised her?

  As he wound his way through the crush, he kept his gaze fixed on a thick mass of hair, black as a crow’s feather. When he neared, Cara faced him. For a scant second, he glimpsed agony in her blue eyes, before the pain disappeared behind a mask of polite decorum, which she usually reserved for strangers. That she sought to conceal her natural state from him, the one person with whom she had shared everything, cut like the sharpest knife.

  She dipped her chin and smiled, but it was not the effervescent sort with which she always welcomed him. “Good evening, Lance.”

  “My lady.” In a single swift move, he took her hand in his, raised it to his lips, and then pressed her gloved palm to the crook of his arm. “Take a turn about the room with me.”

  To his surprise, she acquiesced without argument.

  As they strolled, he nodded acknowledgments to various members of society. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”

  She flinched, and he cursed.

  “Cara, I must confess I am at a loss.” Lance sighed and forced himself to remain patient. “Please know it is not my intent to cause you discomfort. I merely seek to understand your motives.”

  “My motives for--what?” She nodded once and smiled at Lord Albemarle, and he mirrored her movements.

  “For your actions both before and after I claimed the proof of your virtue.” Lance scanned the area for a venue to suit his purpose. “You were quite insistent in your desire to become my marchioness, and made a passionate argument to that effect, until you consummated the bargain. I believe you have confused the situation, as most women operate in reverse, holding their favors hostage in exchange for a marriage contract.”

  “How dare you.” Cara halted so suddenly that he tripped. “Do you believe I planned to trap you?”

  “Easy, sugar kisses.” Conscious of the multitude of stares cast in their direction, and the rush of whispers, Lance steered her toward a nearby terrace. “Else you risk further ruin, which you will not escape so easily, given our esteemed audience.”

  As he expected, she checked her demeanor and assumed a cordial expression. “Just what do you imply?” she inquired through gritted teeth.

  “I imply nothing.” They weaved right, then left, and then right again. “I merely state the facts of our predicament, as they have occurred, and urge you to proceed with caution.”

  “That sounds like a threat.” Her eyes flared.

  “No, not a threat but a friendly suggestion.” Then, for the benefit of those within earshot, he stated rather loudly, “You look a bit flushed, Miss Douglas. Perhaps some fresh air will improve your disposition.”

  “How very thoughtful, my lord.” Again, she followed his lead. “And perhaps you will explain your insistence on discussing personal matters in such a public forum.”

  “You give me no choice, as you refuse to answer my summons to my satisfaction and decline to receive me when I call.” Lance opened the terrace door and handed her over the threshold to the flagged surface.

  When he secured their privacy, she whirled on a heel. “Are you planning to make advances?”

  “No.” He could not help but laugh. “Trust me, when I makes advances, I shall be far more direct, and you will have no doubt of my resolve.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “To settle our situation.”

  “I will not yield.” She raised her chin. “Nothing you can do will sway me.”

  “Nothing?” Someday soon he was sincerely going to enjoy proving otherwise. “You talk a bold game, sugar kisses. I wonder if you are prepared to accept the consequences of your actions?”

  Cara opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. “That was not a challenge.”

  “Really?” Lance smirked. “You do not sound too certain of yourself.”

  “I was simply making a statement.” She shivered and crossed her arms. “It was not a dare.”

  He remained silent but grasped her by the waist and hugged her close.

  “Lance--”

  “Relax.” He nuzzled her hair and kissed her forehead. “I only want to talk, Cara.”

  “I can’t see anything,” she said in a small voice, offering the slightest resistance, before resting
her cheek to his shoulder.

  “Then you may rely on me.” Having traversed the grounds on occasions too numerous to count, in past illicit endeavors, he could navigate the Richmond’s garden with his eyes closed.

  Their locale, situated far off the well-traveled path, afforded the perfect place for a tryst, had he been so inclined. The moonless night reinforced their concealment, for which he was grateful because Cara would have taken umbrage with his supremely male countenance were their sufficient light to illuminate him.

  “All right.” She sighed. “Just what are you about?”

  “I thought it obvious.” He rubbed her lower back. “And why are you whispering?”

  “Your motives for bringing me here can’t be proper.”

  “Miss Douglas, how uncharacteristically unladylike of you.” He thrust his hips and grinned when her breath hitched. “I must confess my motives are honorable, for me. But let us not abandon your idea.”

  “Do not play coy with me.” Though her words bespoke rebuke, her tone hinted at amusement.

  “I do not think I have ever been accused of being coy.”

  “Lance, we are not here to smell the roses.”

  “Would you be disappointed if I told you my intent was as gallant? And why are you whispering? Have you something to hide? Are you afraid to be seen with me?”

  “We do not have to hide, as it is pitch black out here.” She wound her arms about his waist. “And of course I am not ashamed of you.”

  Lance stiffened in her embrace. “I said afraid.”

  “As did I.”

  “No, you said ashamed.”

  “Well, you know what I meant.”

  “Are you ashamed of me? Has my injury altered your good opinion of me?” Was that why she would not marry him?

  “Lance, I could never be ashamed of you, and I apologize if I indicated otherwise.” She shifted in his hold, just enough to frame his face. “I believe your injury is temporary, and you will one day walk as you did before. But if it does not come to pass, you will never be anything less than the man you have always been. In short, you are now, and forever, my hero.”

  And then Cara kissed him.

  Hers was not the most polished or ardent of expressions, but its effects were certainly the most potent. Instead of coming at him as a practiced seraph, with a twenty-one-gun assault, which he could have easily resisted, she lured him with seemingly harmless but flirty flicks of her tongue and achingly sweet caresses. Indeed, the moment reigned supreme as a stealth attack of the gentlest sort, which built momentum with each successive nip of his flesh, as a poignant affirmation to prove her point.

  “Why will you not have me, Cara?” He clung to her as a drowning man and she his only lifeline. “You wanted me. You told me and showed me, as much.”

  “And you turned me away,” she whispered.

  “It appears we have changed positions.” He caught the crest of her ear in his teeth. “Is that your aim--to teach me a lesson?”

  “Would that I were that clever.” She withdrew from his embrace. “Rather, I submit that you and I are on the same page.”

  “How so?” Were she correct, he would be planning a wedding.

  “Do you recall your objections to our union?” Cara inquired.

  “No.” Lance lied, because he cursed his miserable hide every waking hour for having argued with her.

  “Well, I do. And one counterpoint, in particular, has merit.”

  “And that would be--what?”

  “I do not deserve you,” she replied in a grave tone.

  In a flash, his blood ran cold. “When did I ever make such an asinine statement?”

  “While you were abed, just before we--”

  “Made love?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you misunderstood, as I do not deserve you.”

  “Oh, I beg to disagree, my hero.”

  “Cara, you are not making sense.” She could not have shocked him more had she physically struck him. “I insist you explain yourself, this instant.”

  “I cannot.”

  “So you reject my offer of marriage, and you refuse to tell me why?” The world tilted beneath his feet.

  “Yes.”

  “For the love of all creation, why?”

  “Lance, I do not expect you to comprehend my position, but if I confess my reason, then I can never wed you.”

  What in bloody hell did she mean? He scratched his temple and replayed her words. Had she clearly defined the impediments to their union, he could have dissected each obstacle, one by one. But her intransigence narrowed his options. In essence, to win Cara, he had to fight Cara.

  Incredulous, he shifted his weight. “You must be joking.”

  “Actually, I am quite serious.” In that second, he would have given his ship for a full moon, as he could glean nothing from her demeanor and would dearly love to study her face.

  “Then I am to guess?” He settled hands on hips.

  “Well, in a manner of speaking--yes.”

  “And you can give me no hint of your requirements?”

  “I am not sure,” she stated with an air of indecision.

  “Then allow me to bring some semblance of sanity to this exercise in lunacy.” For good or ill, he had to charge her position; else he might never understand her view.

  “By all means.”

  “Since, for whatever logic, you reject me, then I have no choice but to chart my own course.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I am not going to like this?” Cara queried with more than a hint of skepticism.

  Lance laughed. “Suffice it to say, for better or worse, I will propose once more, and only once more. If your response remains unchanged, I will never again offer for you.”

  “However you dress it, that is a threat.”

  “Not a threat but a promise.” He hated to be stern, but he had to do something, as they could not indefinitely maintain their current heading. “Now have you any clues to impart regarding your inexplicable behavior?”

  “I have but one.”

  “And that would be?”

  “I am sworn to uphold the Brethren oath.”

  “As am I.” He considered the ancient pledge and pictured the words in his mind.

  “Yet you set your sights on a lesser goal when it comes to your bride.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Now she well and truly befuddled him.

  “Therein lies the answer, Lance.”

  #

  “So he will propose only once more?” Sabrina humphed and set her cup on the table. “I do not care what Lance calls it, that is an ultimatum pure and simple.”

  “How dare he resort to such bully tactics.” Caroline slapped a fist to an open palm. “Brethren or not, the man ought to be horsewhipped.”

  “And when did he have the opportunity to deliver this not so gracious overture?” Rebecca inquired with an arched brow.

  “Last night.” Cara averted her gaze and cursed the sting of a blush in her cheeks. Although she would have preferred not to disclose recent events surrounding her scheme of hearts, she relied on their aid, and they could not offer guidance without knowledge of current developments. “At the Richmond’s ball.”

  “You were alone with him.” Sabrina compressed her lips.

  “How exciting.” Alex gasped and perched on the edge of her chair. “Did you kiss?”

  “Well--yes.” Cara shifted her weight. “But I had to do it.”

  Sabrina, Caroline, and Rebecca gave vent to simultaneous snorts of skepticism. Alex bounced with unchecked enthusiasm, clapped her hands, and squealed with delight.

  “I did, I swear.” Cara stretched her feet and studied her slippers. “He required reassurance, and I could not resist.”

  Sabrina rolled her eyes. “If I did not know any better, I would say you are deliberately undermining our mission.”

  Cara blinked. “Mission?”

  “Indeed,” Sabrina replied with a nod. “If we are to suc
ceed, then you must consider Lance your adversary in a war of love.”

  “And is that all you did? Remember, you promised to divulge every detail in our little endeavor.” Alex leaned forward and lowered her chin. “And I will tell you of my rendezvous with Jason in the orangery.”

  “Alex.” Caroline folded her arms. “Might I suggest you heed my advice where men are concerned?”

  “Why should I?” Alex pouted. “I foresee no impediments in marrying Jason. He has but to declare himself.”

  “A rather important step you would do well not to concede,” Rebecca added, with a countenance of disapproval.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Sabrina frowned. “Have I taught you nothing? Why should he offer for you, when you already make him free of your favors?”

  “Dear sisters, I see no reason to deny my own desires.” Alex scoffed. “I will not lie to him or myself and pretend I am something I am not.”

  “But you have already deceived him,” Cara stated in a small voice. A knock at the door brought her up short.

  “Come,” Brie responded.

  If Cara had thought her situation dire, what followed sent her plummeting to new depths of despair.

  “Just as I suspected.” Elaine loomed with a dour visage of gloom. “I had thought to pay call but found everyone curiously absent. And what are you ladies about?”

  “My darling Elaine.” Cara leapt to her feet. “How are you? Will you not join us?” She cleared her throat. “Would you care for tea?”

  “Actually, I am in no mood for tea, and I am quite displeased.” Elaine drew herself up with the noble superiority one would expect of the daughter of a marquess. “I should very much like to know what is going on and your reasons for excluding me.”

  “Come and sit, dearest.” Caroline stood and offered her place to the youngest member of the Brethren. “I will take the ottoman.”

  An uncomfortable silence cast a pall on the gathering, and Cara mulled the situation, which had gone from critical to worse in a hairsbreadth of a second. “I owe you an apology. I have a problem, and our sisters have provided their assistance. Given your cousin’s injury, and your delicate emotional state, I did not wish to compound your misery by burdening you with my predicament.”

  “Because you are in love with Lance?” Elaine queried with cherubic innocence.